House of Mirth (Barnes & Noble Classics - Edith Wharton [134]
He gathered himself up at the challenge. “You will do as I tell you? There’s but one thing, then; you must go straight to your cousins, the Stepneys.”
“Oh—” broke from her with a movement of instinctive resistance; but he insisted: “Come—it’s late, and you must appear to have gone there directly.”
He had drawn her hand into his arm, but she held him back with a last gesture of protest. “I can‘t—I can’t—not that—you don’t know Gwen: you mustn’t ask me!”
“I must ask you—you must obey me,” he persisted, though infected at heart by her own fear.
Her voice sank to a whisper: “And if she refuses?”—but, “Oh, trust me—trust me!” he could only insist in return; and yielding to his touch, she let him lead her back in silence to the edge of the square.
In the cab they continued to remain silent through the brief drive which carried them to the illuminated portals of the Stepneys’hotel. Here he left her outside, in the darkness of the raised hood, while his name was sent up to Stepney, and he paced the showy hall, awaiting the latter’s descent. Then minutes later the two men passed out together between the gold-laced custodians of the threshold; but in the vestibule Stepney drew up with a last flare of reluctance.
“It’s understood, then?” he stipulated nervously, with his hand on Selden’s arm. “She leaves tomorrow by the early train—and my wife’s asleep, and can’t be disturbed.”
4
THE BLINDS OF MRS. Peniston’s drawing-room were drawn down against the oppressive June sun, and in the sultry twilight the faces of her assembled relatives took on a fitting shadow of bereavement.
They were all there? Van Alstynes, Stepneys and Melsons—even a stray Peniston or two, indicating, by a greater latitude in dress and manner, the fact of remoter relationship and more settled hopes. The Peniston side was, in fact, secure in the knowledge that the bulk of Mr. Peniston’s property “went back”; while the direct connection hung suspended on the disposal of his widow’s private fortune and on the uncertainty of its extent. Jack Stepney, in his new character as the richest nephew, tacitly took the lead, emphasizing his importance by the deeper gloss of his mourning and the subdued authority of his manner; while his wife’s bored attitude and frivolous gown proclaimed the heiress’s disregard of the insignificant interests at stake. Old Ned Van Alstyne, seated next to her in a coat that made affliction dapper, twirled his white moustache to conceal the eager twitch of his lips; and Grace Stepney, red-nosed and smelling of crape, whispered emotionally to Mrs. Herbert Melson: “I couldn’t bear to see the Niagara anywhere else!”
A rustle of weeds and quick turning of heads hailed the opening of the door, and Lily Bart appeared, tall and noble in her black dress, with Gerty Farish at her side. The women’s faces, as she paused interrogatively on the threshold, were a study in hesitation. One or two made faint motions of recognition, which might have been subdued either by the solemnity of the scene, or by the doubt as to how far the others meant to go; Mrs. Jack Stepney gave a careless nod, and Grace Stepney, with a sepulchral gesture, indicated a seat at her side. But Lily, ignoring the invitation, as well as Jack Stepney’s official attempt to direct her, moved across the room with her smooth free gait, and seated herself in a chair which seemed to have been purposely placed apart from the others.
It was the first time that she had faced her family since her return from Europe, two weeks earlier; but if she perceived any uncertainty in their welcome, it served only to add a tinge of irony to the usual composure of her bearing. The shock of dismay with which, on the dock, she had heard from Gerty Farish of Mrs. Peniston’s sudden death, had been mitigated, almost at once, by the irrepressible thought that now, at last, she would be able to pay her debts. She